My Grandmothers’ Community

On the Value of Caring and Tending

My Mother’s Mother

Playing Bridge

Granny played bridge with the same group of women for more than 50 years. I am not sure how her bridge group started. Maybe they met in church? Maybe they met as part of a military family support organization? Maybe they were high school friends? Maybe the were all daughters of men that worked on the L&N Railroad? It is funny that I never asked, or if I did I don’t remember the specifics.

Around the War

What I do know is the nucleus of women who started playing bridge together when they were very young played together many years. They saw their husbands off to and back from WWII. They raised children. They established homes. They cared for their families. They lost husbands and eventually began to lose each other. They were the ebb and flow of life itself.

Steel Magnolias

From where I sat, they were strong and beautiful. They were deeply connected to the community, mostly through church. They tried recipes from Southern Living. When one of the group needed support, they were there with food in hand. They did not get caught up in gossip (though I am sure if they did Granny would not have shared it with me). They wore more pearls than diamonds. They traveled in campers. They always had their hair done. They cared for their aging parents and grandchildren. They worked cross word and jig saw puzzles. They continued to play bridge.

My Father’s Mother

The Garden

Nana kept a garden, along with my grandfather, behind the house in which my father grew up. There were 400 tomato plants and rows of green beans, potatoes, zucchini, carrots, eggplant, green peppers, and corn spread out over three acres for many years. I learned how to dig potatoes without stabbing them in the garden. I learned the difference between half runner and blue lake green beans in the garden. I learned about the sweet juiciness of silver queen corn in the garden. I learned when a tomato is perfectly ripe for picking in the garden.

The Rose Garden

Nana had a rose garden with her favorite Jackson and Perkins roses next to vegetable garden, also. Tending the roses was her summer joy. We all need a summer joy. I remember their sweet smell. She had several favorite roses. She loved the smell of the huge purple Heirloom rose. She always said the red and white, “Double Delight,” was special because it looked like each petal was gently painted. She also liked the flashy bright orange, “Tropicana,” because the blooms seemed to last forever. She would never claim an absolute favorite because she loved them all. If pressed, I think she would have said the beautifully proud and deep red “Kentucky Derby.” She spoke of her roses like a proud parent speaks of their child.

The Garden and the Community

Over the years, the garden was an important part of friendships and community. The garden sat on a street the bore my family name. My grandparents shared the fruit of their labor with their church, neighborhood, and community food kitchens. They opened the garage door early every morning with boxes and boxes of produce ready to be bagged and delivered. They moved between sitting on the swing, working in the garden, and talking with neighbors as the hours of the days would pass. On these special days, I learned family stories, all about vegetables, and neighborhood history.

What It Means to Care and Tend

A big lesson my grandmothers taught me, and there were a lot of them over the years for which I am profoundly grateful, was how to care for and tend things in my life. Whether it be our friendships, our passions and desires, our skills and talents, or our communities and our world, it must all be cared and tended. We are put on earth to do no less.